Assisted Living
by quack675
Summary: Foreman's parents have moved to NJ and his father wants him to come over for Sunday lunch and bring along his good friend Dr. Chase. Foreman is hesitant because he's embarrassed by his mother's disease. ChaseForeman friendship piece.


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AN: I apologize for any irritation that comes from calling Foreman "Eric" in the first part. It worked better that way. Warning for graphic references to prayer and Bible verses. LOL And why does this site delete stuff in italics?

"You what?" Dr. Eric Foreman exclaimed, shocked when he learned of his father's decision to move with his Alzheimer's afflicted mother to an assisted living community in Princeton, New Jersey.

Rodney explained, "Amelia's time is limited and I want to be closer to you."

"I don't even know that I'll stay in New Jersey! My fellowship is almost over."

"You've talked so often about how much you love New York and New Jersey. I'm sure you'll stay in the area," Rodney argued. "So how about lunch on Sunday? You can bring your girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend," Eric informed him. There was no way he was going to drag any woman he was interested in dating to meet his mother. She would surely embarrass him, if she even remembered him.

"Bring your friend then," Rodney urged. "He seems like such a nice young man."

Eric was momentarily dumbstruck. He did not really have any _friends_, per say. "Which friend?" he asked tentatively.

"Dr. Chase," Rodney sighed as if he thought it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Right. Of course," Eric agreed. "I'll be sure to ask him if he's not too busy." No way in hell was _that_ going to happen.

"Don't, forget, Eric. Your mother worries that you don't have any friends here. It's almost funny. She never approved of your friends back home, but worries you don't have any here. I told her that you weren't all alone because you had at least good friend who wasn't likely to get you to steal a car. "

"Why did you tell her that we were close?" Eric asked, smarting from the reference to bad decisions he had made as a teen.

"He was so concerned about you when you were ill," Rodney answered. "We prayed for you together."

"You did?" This was news to Eric.

"Yes, after they induced the coma, I went back to the chapel and he came by to check on me. He sat with me for a while and we prayed together, silently at first, but I asked if he would pray out loud. I just wanted to hear for myself that there was more than me reaching out to God on your behalf. You know… where two or more are gathered in My name," Rodney explained, referencing part of a Bible verse that he expected his son to recall.

Eric's illness had been one of the darkest moments of his life. His son, the one he never worried about, was near death and he was bearing the burden of the pain on his own until Chase had softly taken his hand and prayed for Eric's health. "He's quite eloquent, you know. I commented on how beautifully he prayed and he told me it didn't matter how pretty your words were, it only mattered what was truly in your heart. He quoted a verse that I'd never really paid attention to before, Romans 8:26: In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express_." _

"I had no idea," Eric told him.

"When I heard that verse, Eric, I knew you'd be okay. Peace settled on my heart. You have no idea how often I've read and reread it since that day." It was not easy to deal with an Alzheimer's patient alone. Rodney was sure the Spirit must groan on his behalf quite often.

"That's great, Dad," Eric replied, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to credit science and man's understanding of science for his recovery, but he knew it was important for his father to credit his recovery to prayer. He respected the man enough to keep his opinions on that matter to himself.

"Please invite Dr. Chase since you're not seeing anyone now," Rodney urged again.

"I will," Eric agreed, regretting it. He could not make a promise to his father and then turn around and not follow through. He would just have to phrase the invitation in such a way that Chase would refuse.

Foreman found Chase alone in the diagnostics office on a Thursday morning. He was sipping the coffee he had purchased at Starbucks and looking through a file. "We got a case?" he asked as he sat down across from his colleague.

"No, this is an old file. I was just reviewing something," Chase answered vaguely, closing the file and putting it back into his messenger bag.

Foreman started to make a biting remark about how obvious it was that Chase was hiding the file, but he refrained. "So… my parents have moved to Princeton."

"That's fantastic!" Chase said, sounding genuinely pleased with the news.

"Sure," Foreman agreed reluctantly. "There's an assisted living community--"

"Holly Springs?" Chase asked.

"You know it?" Foreman questioned, surprised.

"I've had several elderly patients on ICU rounds that live there, so I've heard of it. It's great of you to help them get in there. It's so much better than being alone a thousand miles away. Now you know someone will check on them when you can't."

"Yeah," Foreman agreed again, taken aback that Chase assumed his hand instigated the move. "So, anyway, they want me to come have Sunday dinner with them after church, around one o'clock. And my Dad specifically asked me to bring you, but I told him you would probably be busy. So you don't have to feel obligated--"

"He did?" Chase asked. The shock played clearly across his face.

Foreman was pleased that Chase looked dumbstruck. He was certain the Aussie had no desire to spend time with his family.

"That's--" Chase was not sure what the word was that he was trying to find. It went beyond _considerate_. It might even be appropriate to call it _amazing_. His own father did not have time for a even a drink when he knew they would never see each other again, but Foreman's father was inviting him into his home for a meal. "I'd love to come!" he answered brightly.

Foreman's face fell. "You would?"

"Sure, your dad's a great guy. I'd love to meet your mom." He noticed Foreman's expression. "You didn't want me to say yes, did you?"

"No, no, it's okay," Foreman sputtered. "I just didn't expect you to say yes. Who wants to spend time with two old codgers like them?"

"Your dad's nice. I'm honored that he'd invite me into his home. I'm sure your mother is just as lovely--"

"My mother has Alzhiemer's," Foreman cut him off.

"Oh," Chase answered. "I'm sorry." He could tell that Foreman was embarrassed by this fact. "That's hard to deal with. How long has she had it?"

"About three years. So, I don't think you'd enjoy being around her very much," Foreman told him.

"It's not a problem for me," Chase answered. "Is it a problem for you?"

"No," Foreman snapped defiantly.

"Look, if your dad really wants me there, I would love to go. If you're uncomfortable with me meeting your mother, then I understand. But I'm not put off by the idea of being around someone with Alzheimer's. You decide what you want me to do. It's up to you," Chase finished his coffee in a gulp, got up, threw away the cup, and left for the clinic.

--

"I can't believe I brought you along," Foreman told Chase as they stood outside his parents new home--a home that he had never even seen and Chase thought he had helped pick. He had eventually decided that it would be beneficial to have Chase go with him. Chase's presence would ensure that the conversation stayed pleasant. No one would mention Marcus's jail time or his own negligence in visiting his parents if there was someone around to inspire maintenance of niceties.

"Do you want me to leave?" Chase asked. He was standing next to his coworker and holding a square white box that contained a still warm apple pie that he had picked up at a bakery on the way to Foreman's house. "Would you make up your mind before your father opens the--"

"Eric! Dr. Chase!" Rodney Foreman exclaimed, as the white door swung open. "Come in, come in!" he bellowed.

"Hi, Dad," Foreman responded as he allowed himself to be enveloped in a tight hug.

Chase grasped Rodney's hand as he was welcomed inside. "Mr. Foreman," he nodded politely. "Thank you for the invitation." He presented the box to Rodney, "For dessert."

Foreman had a sudden urge to kick him.

"How thoughtful," Rodney said, taking the pie and placing it on the counter next to the stove.

"Well, what do you think?" Rodney asked his son. "It's small, but comfortable."

"It's perfect," Foreman declared, surveying the kitchen and dining area. The living and dining areas were separated by one of the pale yellow walls that formed the interior. The kitchen itself had white cabinets and appliances, Formica countertops that had a white base, but were flecked with tiny spots of yellow, blue, green, brown, and mauve. The curtains over the sink were pale blue and covered with sunflowers. The table in the dining area was already set for four people with blue and white Correlle dishes atop bright yellow placemats. The kitchen smelled of something spicy, something with bell peppers, garlic, and onions.

"I've heard great things about the community," Chase added.

"Your mother is in the living room," Rodney said. He turned to Chase, "Dr. Chase, I'm sure Eric told you that Amelia has Alzheimer's. She may seemed confused."

"I understand," Chase nodded. "And you can call me Robert or Chase, whatever. You don't have to address me as Doctor."

Rodney nodded and led the two young men into his living room. Amelia Foreman was sitting in a chair reading her Bible. She was still wearing the simple blue cotton dress that she had worn to church. Some Sundays, she was able to attend a service. Other Sundays, Rodney knew would be better if they stayed home. However, the community had its own little chapel and he had promised Amelia when they moved that he would find them a good church. She did not seem to notice that they had entered the room.

"Amelia, Eric and his friend Robert have come to have lunch with us today," Rodney told her.

Amelia looked up from her book, "Oh, it's Eric. My Eric!" She quickly rose to her feet and Foreman took a few steps to meet her.

"Be careful, Mom, don't fall," Foreman warned.

"I'm not going to fall!" Amelia said as she hugged him. Then she pulled away and looked him up and down. "You look so handsome!" she exclaimed, patting his cheek with her palm.

"This is Robert Chase," Foreman said, breaking the hug with his mother to introduce her to his colleague. "We work together at the hospital."

She turned to Chase, "You're Eric's friend?" she asked. "The nice boy that Rodney told me about?"

Chase nodded, "It's nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand.

Amelia would have none of that; she wrapped her arms around Chase and hugged him too. "Of course I remember you, silly." Like she had done with her son, she pulled away and looked him up and down. "You were always such a nice boy, never getting Eric into trouble like the rest of them."

Foreman rolled his eyes, not from irritation, but from the shame he felt for his mother. He pitied her being in that position, saying things that made no sense, being wrong about everything. He would rather die than develop any form of dementia.

Chase simply nodded. There was no point in telling Amelia that he had only known Foreman three years. Besides, they _did_ break into houses together. The only difference between him and Foreman's childhood friends was that they actually had a good reason to commit various felonies.

"How are your parents?" Amelia asked, still hanging tightly onto Chase's hand.

Chase was not expecting that question.

Foreman dreaded his mother's response when Chase told her that his parents were both dead. She would be terribly embarrassed for asking. Rodney would be embarrassed for her. It was going to get sticky. He waited with baited breath for the response.

"They're…" Chase started. "They're on a journey, a great adventure," he answered.

"Oh, are they on their way to the Holy Land?" Amelia asked. "Your mom so wanted to visit one day."

"Exactly," Chase responded wistfully. "How did you know?"

"I always wanted to go myself," Amelia told him. "It's what I would pick if I were to go on an adventure."

Foreman pulled his mother's hand away from Chase's. "Mom, you should sit down and get your rest." He tried to lead her back to her chair.

"Rest?" Amelia questioned. "We have guests. I'm going to go to the kitchen and cook us something to eat." She looked around the still unfamiliar room. "Oh, now which way was the kitchen from here?" she fretted.

"I've got it taken care of," Rodney told her. "You boys stay here and I'll get lunch out of the oven."

"Do you need some help?" Chase asked.

Foreman thought it was a not-so-subtle way to escape from the loony lady.

"Would you like to cut the pie you brought?" Rodney offered.

"Sure," Chase answered, following the man into the kitchen.

"Mom, don't ask so many questions about Chase's family," Foreman chided.

"It's polite to ask about a person's family, Marcus. I thought I taught you better than that."

Foreman shook his head. "Do you like living here?" he asked.

"I need to find that recipe book for your father," she answered. "Have you seen it?" She looked around the room, "Everything is such a mess here."

"No, I haven't," he answered. There was nothing messy about the home at all. Foreman thought it may have been part of the assisted living services to help the residents move in and keep their homes clean, but he was not sure. "Don't worry about recipe books, Mom. Just let us take care of you now." He hoped that she would never be left alone and try to cook. Her confusion might put her life in jeopardy.

Rodney called them into the dining room and they all sat down at the small round table in such a fashion that both Chase and Foreman were between each parent and facing each other. A steaming casserole was in the center of the table between a plate stacked with freshly baked rolls and a dish filled with green peas and carrots. Pitchers full of iced tea and lemonade were beside the two side dishes.

"The lemonade is sugar-free" Rodney told them. "The tea is like my mother used to make it," he winked. This told Foreman that it was syrupy sweet and quite unlike anything you would normally find in New Jersey. "That's a sausage and wild rice casserole," he explained pointing to the center dish. He quickly looked to Chase, "Oh, you're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"No, sir," Chase answered. He did try to avoid pork, but would never have said so to his host.

"Who would like to say the blessing?" Amelia asked, extending her hands to Chase and Foreman. "Eric?"

"We should let Chase. I hear he prays quite eloquently," Foreman said, taking hold of both of his parents hands.

Chase caught Foreman's eye, regretting accepting the invitation. It was obvious that Foreman did not want him to be here. "Sure," he said, taking the hands that were offered to him to complete the circle.

They bowed their heads and Chase began, "Heavenly Father, Creator of this world and the next, we praise You this day for the blessings You have bestowed upon us. We thank You for mercifully meeting our needs, for the food that is before us, for the hands that prepared it, and for the loving home in which it is provided. Thank you, Oh God, for nourishing our bodies and sustaining our souls. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." He broke the circle to make the sign of the cross as he ended his prayer. Amelia followed his example though she was Protestant and had never crossed herself in her prayers.

Foreman frowned. There was something just _wrong_ about his mother following Chase's example. As far as he knew, she had never even been to a Catholic service before.

"I could listen to you pray all day," Rodney smiled. "You have such a way with words."

"Seminary will do that to you," Foreman suggested. "Let me get it for you," he said, taking his mother's plate. He scooped some of the casserole onto it, added some peas and carrots, and placed a roll beside the casserole. "What would you like to drink, Mom?" he asked, setting the plate in front of her.

"Tea," she answered, so he poured some into her glass, making sure that it was not so full that it was likely to spill when she picked it up to drink from it.

Once Amelia was served, everyone else helped themselves to the food.

Chase tried the casserole tentatively. It was very different from the things he normally ate, but he found that he really liked it. "This is excellent," he said. "What's in it?"

"I'm pleased you like it," Rodney told him. "It's sausage, onions, red and green bell peppers, garlic, mushrooms, water chestnuts, cream of chicken, cream of mushroom, and cream of celery soups, chicken broth, shredded cheese, a couple of boxes of long grain and wild rice, with almonds sprinkled on top."

"Wow," Chase responded. He did not think he had ever cooked anything with that many ingredients.

"It's Eric's favorite," Amelia added.

"I can see why," Chase said, taking another bite.

"You were in the seminary?" Rodney asked. "Studying to be a priest? Your parents must have been so proud of you."

"Mmm, not really," Chase answered. "My father was a doctor and… well, my mother…" he was not sure how to finish that without taking a risk of upsetting Amelia by revealing that his mother had died. He changed the tone of his voice to a happier note and said, "So, anyway, I became a doctor instead. How do you like living in New Jersey?" he asked.

"It's been nice so far. I kind of dread our first winter," Rodney admitted. He nodded to Chase to show that he understood that his mother was a potentially painful subject.

"We should have your car checked out," Foreman suggested, trying to move the conversation further away from Chase's family. When he was a kid and would invite friends to his house, family was the most prominent topic covered, from parents to siblings to third cousins. The people he had grown up with openly talked about their families, warts and all. Chase was reluctant to say anything at all about his family. So, Foreman worked to get away from that, hoping his mother would not say anything that she would regret. "We need to make sure the oil is changed and the brakes and tires are in good working condition before any bad weather hits."

"So, Charlie, how is your sister?" Amelia asked, turning to Chase.

Chase realized she was addressing him despite the inaccurate name. "Good," he answered. "I'm sure she would be flattered that you asked about her."

"And did you ever marry that girl you dated for so long?"

"No, Ma'am. I haven't married yet." He figured she had confused him with one of her son's other friends.

"Well, you need to work on that, Charlie. You're a handsome young man and I know there's a nice girl out there waiting for you to find her."

"I hope so," Chase answered.

"So you are looking to settle down?" Amelia prodded.

"Just waiting for the right girl."

"I was going to let the dog come into the house, but I didn't want him to jump all over our company," Amelia said.

"You don't have a dog anymore," Foreman corrected her.

"Of course we do, Marcus. Little…scruffy little mutt…" she searched for the dog's name in her memory. "Always jumping on people."

"Tiger," Foreman supplied.

"Tiger's a strange name for a dog, don't you think?" Amelia asked.

"I always thought so," Chase agreed with a shrug. "More fitting for a cat, I'd say."

"I know. There's a nice girl at the church. I would ask her if she would go out with Eric, but he never comes home. Charlie, would you like me to get her to go out with you the next time you come visit?"

Chase looked up from his meal. "I'm sort of involved with someone else."

"Then you should marry her. These days you kids behave terribly. No commitments. Don't get her in trouble, Charlie. Your poor mother would be so ashamed."

"Mom!" Foreman was horrified that his mother was giving Chase the "be a good boy" speech.

"Well if she's a nice girl--"

"Mrs. Foreman, if I do marry her, I promise you'll be invited to the wedding," Chase offered.

Foreman stood up suddenly. "Can I see you outside?" he asked Chase.

Chase sighed and got up, placing his napkin beside his plate. He followed Foreman out the back door of the house to a small porch, barely large enough for a couple of chairs and a potted plant.

"Why did you say that?" Foreman demanded. "Why did you promise to invite my mother to your wedding?"

"I said _if_ I marry her--not likely since she won't give me the time of day."

"And why are you letting her call you Charlie?"

"She thinks it's my name," Chase answered. "It's obvious that she means me."

"You shouldn't let her call you Charlie. That's not your name. You shouldn't let her think you have a sister. You don't. You should have told her your parents were dead."

"Why?" Chase asked.

"Because it's the truth."

"Look, I told her my parents were on a journey. Some of us believe the afterlife is a journey. I didn't lie to her and, more importantly, I didn't humiliate her by correcting her."

"You're letting her believe in lies."

"You're focusing on unimportant details."

"The truth isn't important?"

"Your _mother_ is important. She's in the early stages of this disease. She knows enough to know that there are things that she doesn't know. Do you think she doesn't know she's confused and sometimes she gets things wrong? What benefit is it to anyone to make her feel bad or make her question herself so much that she doesn't say anything at all for fear of getting it wrong? Wouldn't you rather she express the coherent thoughts she has, even if they're between the not so coherent ones?"

Foreman shook his head, glaring. "You don't know what it's like to watch someone you love slip slowly away."

"Right," Chase snorted. "I'm rich. What would I know about watching your mother die before your very eyes? What do _you_ know about it, _Eric_? You've see your parents twice in a decade. You're the one who doesn't have a clue what it's like to watch someone you love die a slow and difficult death. You learn that you have to pick your battles and that getting everything right isn't worth the damage from the fight."

"How do you know anything? Your mom's been dead for, what, fifteen years now? Unless she had you when she was fifty, I don't think she had Alzheimer's."

"No, she didn't. She… Look, your mother didn't cause this. She's not doing this to herself or to you. It's something that's happening to her and she can't help it. The brightest spot in her life is when her son comes to see her, but you're treating her like you're her doctor. Treat her like you're her son." Chase turned away from Foreman and leaned against the railing of the porch. His hands were softly intertwined, reminding Foreman of a schoolboy.

Chase's voice was softer as he continued. "Let her be who she is while she still can. Someday she's going to fade so far away that you'll long for the days of her calling you Marcus and thinking your friend is Charlie. You know this disease. It's going to get uglier."

Foreman was well aware of how ugly this disease could get. His mother was doing astonishingly well for someone who had had the diagnosis for three years. The way it progressed, she could wind up curled into a fetal position getting all her nutrition in liquid supplements through a nasal tube. It was a fate worse than death, and yet, no one died from Alzheimer's. They would die because they aspirated their pureed beans and got pneumonia or they would eventually die from congestive heart failure. Quality of life was the casualty for Alzheimer's patients. It would leave an empty shell long before the body surrendered to something else. The only mercy of the disease was that it was more likely to be unbearable for he caretakers than for the victim. The only way to cope with having a loved one with Alzheimer's was to make yourself believe that they really did not know what was happening to them. The alternative was too horrible to consider.

"It's not going to be easy, but they're here now and you have the chance to do something right, so do it. Just show her you love and respect her and have some faith in her. Be grateful that the legacy she's leaving you is more than bottles and bruises." His voice was almost a whisper and he looked down. A breeze ruffled his hair and he caught a chill. He shook his head and looked up. "Your parents love each other and they love you. There's nothing shameful about that."

Foreman stared, having no idea how to respond. He thought Chase had just told him somewhere in there that his mother was an abusive drunk. Chase had revealed that he had watched someone he loved die slowly at her own hands. Maybe he could empathize more than Foreman had realized.

"My casserole is getting cold," Chase said. He left Foreman alone with his thoughts on the porch.

The way Chase saw his parents was so different than the vision he had of them. Chase focused on what was right while he was focusing on what was wrong. Chase thought they were wonderful as they were while he wanted to make them into what he wanted them to be. He wanted them to fit the man he had become, not remind him of the boy he used to be. Then he realized he would not have become the man he was if they had not raised the boy he was. He did not get to be a neurologist on his own. His mother had refused to let him get after school jobs so he could keep his grades high and earn scholarships. She had scrubbed the floors and cleaned houses for rich white people who did not even know her last name so she could help him find a better future. His father pulled double shifts and worked harder than anyone else he had ever known. Why was he ashamed of that, of where he had come from? "I'm not," he said aloud. He walked back into the dining area and found that his parents and Chase had finished their main course and moved on to the apple pie. He sat down and started to finish his meal. "So, Chase, did I ever tell you about my Mom's peach cobbler? Maybe she or dad can find the recipe and I can make it for the next time we come over for lunch."

"You cooking? I don't think so," Chase laughed. He saw something different in Foreman's eyes and, unless he was horribly mistaken, it looked like he was genuinely appreciative of their talk. "Maybe if we promise to find a couple of nice girls to bring with us, your mom will promise to make something actually edible."

"Yeah, I think she could handle that," Foreman answered. His mother had handled a lot in her lifetime. She could still take on a peach cobbler recipe and win. He reached over and squeezed his mother's hand. "Nothing beats the real thing."


End file.
